


Love is composed of a single soul inhabiting two bodies.

by Istra_Faemore



Category: Supernatural
Genre: BAMF Castiel, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-10
Updated: 2014-04-10
Packaged: 2018-01-18 21:37:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,549
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1443784
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Istra_Faemore/pseuds/Istra_Faemore
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's not that Dean is clueless. It's that Dean is completely and utterly <i>clueless</i>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Love is composed of a single soul inhabiting two bodies.

**Author's Note:**

> This WAS supposed to be a wing!sex fic. But yeah. My muse ambushed me after reading a whole pile of entanglednow's Dean/Castiel, Sam/Gabriel, and Lucifer/Sam fics.

It's not that Dean is clueless; he has his moments of almost-genius and is fairly intelligent when he acts his age. He's good with his car. He knows the best ways to kill more than half a dozen monsters. He's _finally_ learned the words to the demon-exorcism ritual and language? Not Dean's forte. 

So it's not that Dean is clueless.

It's that Dean is completely and utterly _clueless_.

In his defence, he _didn't_ ask to be rescued from Hell, rebuilt from the inside out (and isn't _that_ a thought?), and _branded_ without so much as a ' _by-your-fucking-leave_ by a _fucking_ angel of the fucking _Lord_.

He didn't ask, so he didn't _know_ what it meant. 

Sam would gleefully remind him of this for years to come.

 

"Dean." Castiel frowned, a world of meaning in the one syllable. Though, when talking about this particular angel, there was a world of meaning in Castiel's frowns. The that currently graced his face was his side-head-tilt- _Humans-are-truly-bizarre-creatures_ frown. Dean grinned. 

"Cas, just try it."

"I do not need to eat," Cas tried to remind him. "I am--"

"--an angel of the Lord. Yes. I know. But, try it. _Gabriel_ liked to eat." And if that didn't get the scrunched up sad/disapprove-exasperated frown. The special one that Dean linked to the Archangel since his guise was uncovered. Dean knew that he hated to be outdone by Gabriel. 

"Cas, you don't have to do this, just 'cause Dean wants you to," Sam gave Dean bitch-face number 4: _How are we even related, jerk._

Castiel picked up the fork with trepidation. "No Sam. I will try it." Sam heard the unsaid ' _for Dean_.' 

Dean, as usual, was completely clueless.

The moment the pancakes hit his tongue, Cas' eyes widened in surprise, then closed languidly. Fork retreated slowly, as though the angel was loath to let the instrument of deliverance leave. A quiet moan, pleasure mixed with disappointment when the food was gone. Eyes opened again, eying the plate very much like he was under Famine's influence again.

Dean smirked; Sam stared. "Are you gonna be finishing those?" Cas asked, looking a second away from mojo-ing the plate from Dean. 

"Nah, I'll order more." Faint amusement and affection shone from Dean's eyes. "You got anything, Sam?"

"Yeah Bobby said there's omens in a town six hours out."

"Great."

~~~~~~~~~

The omens turned out to be nothing more than a couple of ghosts that had to be persuaded, _forcefully_ to understand the phrase 'rest in peace'. Dean limped from the car to the motel room cursing under his breath. Sam had wrapped an arm around Castiel's neck, letting the angel carry most of his weight, head hanging. Cas manoeuvred him on to a bed, and dropped him with more grace than Dean - or any human - could have. Losing his powers, he may be; strong as _fuck_ he still was. Something Dean appreciated. 

"Man, I hate ghosts," Dean grumbled. The first aid box they kept stocked with all the _good_ stuff that Bobby could get his hands on with fake doctors credentials lay opened next to Sam. "Sam? Hey Sammy, c'mon. Wake up." He shoved gently at Sam's shoulder, receiving a grunt in response. 

"Thought you hated witches," Sam coughed, groaning as he removed his shirt, allowing Dean to doctor him before dry-swallowing some pain medication. 

"I do. Right now? Hate ghosts more," Dean commented. Sam snorted and closed his eyes. 

"Need stitches?" Sam slurred.

"No. No, I don't think so."

Sam hummed in response. "'m gonna sleep now." 

Dean stood, gingerly stretching, wincing as his muscles and wounds protested. Removing his shirt proved problematic, but cool fingers gripped the hem and raised it slowly. Dean shivered as the almost-too-cold tips swiped feather light kisses over his skin. 

"Uh thanks Cas." He turned to face the angel and blinked. Yeah, he really shouldn't have expected Cas to move back; he guessed they was due another conversation about _personal space_. He ran his hand through his hair, or rather _tried_ to run his hand through his hair. The look on Castiel's face stopped him. Dean coughed, suddenly uncomfortable. Cas was staring - no, actually Cas was _glaring_ \- at his bruises and myriad of scrapes and cuts as though they were a personal affront to him. Fingers reached to trace a particularly nasty gash, jerking them away briefly at Dean's hiss. He growled, hands now bunched into fists at his side. 

"Uh, Cas?" Dean licked his suddenly dry lips, eyes not leaving the angel's. That dark, smoky head-tilted-only-slightly so as to cast shadows on his eyes look was usually only seen when Cas was getting ready to angel up and smite something. Dean would have looked over his shoulder to check who was attacking them, but Cas _was fucking staring at him_ and that made Dean shiver. If he didn't know they'd ganked the ghosts, he'd feel sorry for them. Almost. 

"I am useless," he growled. 

"What? _What?_ No Cas, you're not," Dean protested. Because really? Super strength? Angel mojo, limited or not? Was pretty awesome. Plus his huge brain, bigger than Sam's. And all of that, plus, most importantly, _Cas_ , wasn't useless at all. 

A finger brushed the split on his lip and Dean swore his heart stopped beating. _God_. What was this about? _What is this?_ Cas crowed closer and Dean didn't think that was possible. The room suddenly became too warm, narrowing to the space between them. The air was thick, crackling with electricity or something. Cas raised his eyes not his head, hesitating over his lips, before meeting eyes.

"I am. Before," Cas stumbled over the words, forcing them out. "Before I rebelled, I could have exorcised a demon as easy as raising my hand," as if to illustrate, he raised a hand, glancing down to look at it as one would a broken piece of furniture. "I could have sensed the number of ghosts in that building. I could have... I could have healed you." That hand rested lightly on Dean's chest and damned if Dean wasn't going to remove it. Cas was having a _moment_ and Dean needed his angel to be whole and shiny and in one piece. 

"Doesn't matter," Dean began. Cas silenced him with a look. 

"I'm _supposed_ to be watching over you. I'm not supposed to let you get in mortal danger. I'm the one _whose mark you wear_." And, yeah. Yeah that sounded ominous. Like it meant something. He dropped a hand and his eyes to said mark, gripping his shoulder as he gripped him tight when raising him from perdition. Dean's breath caught; he was pretty certain that, aside from the rescue, Cas had never touched his mark. Instinctively, Dean mirrored him, his gesture meant to soothe.

"Cas," he croaked. "You're not useless. You're always helping us, even when you'd rather be looking for God. You're... aw Hell Cas, I'm shit at these chick-flick moments. You're awesome, okay?" Cas looked conflicted. Not quite _I want to rip a vampire's arm off and stake them with it,'_ but certainly a little more than _'can I smite the thing that dared touch what's mine?'_ Dean sucked a breath between his teeth; it occurred to him that Cas thought he might possibly belong to him. It didn't worry him.

What worried him was that he would like _like to belong to Castiel._

"I wish I did not have to leave your side," Cas whispered, breaking Dean out of his reverie before the angel did the angelic-freakish mind-reading thing again. Because? Cas knowing how Dean felt when Dean wasn't really sure himself? Yeah he'd probably end up the wrong side of a smite. 

"You gotta look for your dad, Cas."

"Yes, but I _wish_ ," Cas gave him a look that suggested he was missing something. The look reminded him of a parent who knew their child wasn't stupid, yet still kept doing the same stupid thing over and over. Disappointed. Resigned. And Dean hated it, wanted to take that look off his face and _dammit_! When did Cas become something he'd fight to protect? Someone he'd die to keep safe? Cas didn't _need_ protecting, yet, in Jimmy's body, he looked fragile and small and mopey with all that messy hair and silly trench coat and skewered tie. 

Dean cleared his throat and did what he'd do if Sam looked all sad and small and slumpy (after, of course, bitching him out for his girliness), he grabbed him and pulled him into a hug. Which, considering the paint-by-numbers thing the ghosts worked onto his torso, was a little less than comfortable. But then Cas' hands wrapped around him, his face buried in his shoulder, breaths warm against his bare skin and suddenly it was very comfortable. Dean would swear he was working his angel mojo on him.

Reluctantly, Cas pulled back (and Dean felt the reluctance in the angel's muscles, and didn't _that_ make Dean all shivery in temptation?) and looked up at Dean. "I'll clean your wounds. You need to sleep." 

"Will you--"

"Yes Dean. I'll watch over you. You bear my mark, after all." A half smile. Not even that. Just the corners of his lips twitching up. On Cas, that was the equivalent of a full grin.

Dean grinned back. "Awesome."

_Awesome._


End file.
